


Closer

by Merkwurdigliebe



Category: Dark Age of Camelot (Video Game), Dark Age of Camelot (game)
Genre: F/F, Language Barrier, Original Character(s), POV Female Character, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 04:13:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13942371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merkwurdigliebe/pseuds/Merkwurdigliebe
Summary: A female infiltrator from the realm of Albion is captured in the frontier by a small band from Midgard and taken by one of the warriors to his home in Galplen.  Her situation goes from bad to worse when she realizes what her captor has in store for her.





	Closer

            I can’t believe I fell for it.  It was the oldest trick in the book.  I guess Katherine was right:  I should have listened to that jackass back in the Shadows’ Guild.  I never was a good student, at least not in the sense that my teachers were pleased with skills.  Of course most of them were more interested in seeing a display of my skills in their private chambers.  Some spit in their eye always changed their minds.  I swear, you would think the sick perverts had never seen a woman in their guild before.  And that is what I am: a woman, not a girl.

            So you can understand why I wasn’t much of a student.

            No, I was more interested in learning all I could about being a sneak even if it meant skipping some of the fundamentals.  Can you blame me?  Listening to some old man drone on for hours about “code” and “logic” would drive anyone to tears.  But I now realize I should have taken more heed to one lesson:  don’t accept a challenge from a shadowblade.

            The second I jumped from my hiding spot to kill the little, blue bugger I knew I had made a mistake.  I just didn’t realize just how serious my predicament was.

            The kobold’s friends ran right over me.  I felt a nasty blow to the back of my head and I was eating mud a second later.  It wasn’t enough to knock me out but I was seeing stars for the next few breaths.  I tried to roll over but someone’s booted foot pressed into my back pinning me to the ground.  For what seemed like a very long time, the eight Mids discussed what I assumed was my fate while one of them practically stood on my spine.

            Had I known what Yellowbeard was saying to his companions in his arsed-up language, I think I would have tried a lot harder to escape:  even if it meant getting killed in the process.

            Yellowbeard was not his real name; I never learned that little detail about him.  And I really didn’t care.  The Norseman was much older than me; probably nearly forty seasons.  He was taller than me.  He was blonder than me.  And even though it doesn’t mean much, he was uglier than me.  His name merely served as a description.  I’m not very creative so you’ll have to forgive me.

            I remember him arguing with his companions, especially a troll who seemed to be leading the group.  Yellowbeard’s tone wasn’t the least bit compassionate.  Turns out he wasn’t arguing for my life.  Well, at least not in the sense of sparing it so that I may return to Camelot and live it out in happy pursuit of religious fulfillment.  No, Yellowbeard was looking for a prize.  But it was much worse than I thought.

            So with my hands and feet bound, and tossed unceremoniously head first into a burlap sack, I said goodbye to Caer Benowyc, and goodbye to my beloved Albion.  After the first few minutes of the trip, and a string of curses, I was gagged, too.  I was actually cursing my trainers at The Guild, not the filthy Mids that captured me, although now that I was gagged with a stinking rag, I _was_ cursing the Mids.

            Let me tell you that being slung over a troll’s shoulder while it is running is no way to travel.  I lost track of time and tried to pass out after the first hour.  They must have stopped at least once to eat but they did not offer me anything and I was very hungry when we reached our final destination.  I wish they had killed me.  Yellowbeard’s home wasn’t a swamp, but you could fecking smell it from there.  I retched when I was dumped from the bag and the gag was removed.  The smell was disgusting.  And what I saw didn’t make me feel any better.

            The town (Galplen as I eventually learned) was more of lean-to and a couple of rocks than a town.  Perhaps I’m not being fair to the town, but I grew up in Camelot so it is up against some fierce competition.  Plus Camelot has fewer trolls.

            Galplen seemed to be inhabited by a hundred trolls and Yellowbeard.  Again I’m not being particularly fair, but when you’re hungry, bruised and filthy you tend to lash out those around you.  So in all honesty there were a few Norse among this troll town.  Not many Dwarves or Kobolds, though.  One Norse in particular met us at the gate.  

            She was a somewhat beefy woman, but I think that’s normal for Norse women; I hadn’t seen very many before and I still haven’t.  She caught my attention not only for the hostile look she was giving me, but the looks she and Yellowbeard were giving each other.  She looked like she was going to kill him.  He simply sneered a little and shrugged it off.  I swear I saw a tear in her eye, but I didn’t have time to have a girly chat about it since I was immediately dragged into town. 

* * *

 

            “Oh no!  I don’t think so!”  Yellowbeard obviously had no idea was I was saying, but I have to give him credit for giving me a little privacy.  I had been taken to his home and the bindings about my feet had been removed, but my wrists remained tied.  I took a moment to inspect his stone hut while he looked for something.  Then I came to my senses and dashed out the door.  Yes, that was another lesson I ignored at The Guild:  have an escape plan.  A troll scooped me up before I had gotten two paces from Yellowbeard’s door.

            “Put me down!” I demanded.  Ya, that’ll work:  asking nicely.  Actually, it did work, but he more “threw” than “put” and “down” was “back into Yellowbeard’s hut.”  Yellowbeard turned back towards me just in time to see me stumble back through the opening.  He acted as if I hadn’t attempted escape and held out some clean clothes.

            “What?”  Yes, that’s just how naive I am.  He thrust them at me this time and I had no choice but to accept them.  They may have been clean, but what passed for “clean” in this town was more like “fewer fleas than the trolls.”  I realized I had no choice.  This is when I expressed my concern over maintaining my modesty.

            Yellowbeared nodded -- his expression never changing from one of grim determination -- and stood outside the hut with the flap closed.  I pulled my ripped leathers off which was fairly difficult considering my wrists were still bound.  But I’m pretty limber; I can manage.  However during my contortions I was reminded of my injuries.

            “Aw, Christ!” I moaned as I stretched out my shoulder.  Yellowbeard poked his head through the flap and I quickly covered back up.

            “Sod off for a minute!  I’m fine.”  I didn’t really yell at him, I just shooed him away until I was finished.

            The wool clothes were actually an improvement over my wet leathers since it was getting cold this time of year.  And I saw why Yellowbeard hadn’t bothered to untie my wrists:  the tunic he had given me was not much more than paenula or gurgel with a rope for cinching it about my waist.  At least it covered my breasts.  Little did I realize he wasn’t interested in them so much as he was something else I had beneath my clothes.

* * *

 

            I admit it:  I really hadn’t given much thought to why my life was spared and why Yellowbeard had brought me to his home.  I was tired.  I was hungry.  And I was God knows how far from home.  But after a rather meager meal -- that Yellowbeard had prepared himself -- I was ready to sleep and work on my problems in the morning.  And this is when I learned that my problems were just getting started. 

            I was gulping down the last bit of thin soup and thinking to myself that if Yellowbeard had only untied me I could have made something much heartier when I saw the man in question sitting on his bedroll.  It was the cold gaze in his eyes and the hand patting the space next to him that gave me concern.

            “Uh oh,” I thought to myself as I pretended to take another sip from the empty bowl, trying to stall for time.  Again he patted the bedroll.  This time I took a drink of water, all the while keeping my eyes on him.  He grew impatient.  I could tell by the look in his eyes.  Yellowbeard had two expressions:  angry and impatient.  At least I assumed he had and “angry” look.  I suppose a third look could have been “Trifecta.”  Damn, the man was hard to read.

            Well, I was quite tired.  I sat up slowly and walked around the fire.  I sat down and quickly pulled the blanket over myself facing away from Yellowbeard.  As long as all he wanted to do was sleep I should be fine.  Yes, it had dawned on me by this time what his real intention were, but I’m not sure I was ready to accept the fact.  I _knew_ I was not ready to accept his cockstem between my legs.  Here’s hoping he would give me some time to “warm up to him” and by that I mean “give me time to escape” before he tries to rape me.

            No such luck.  He waited barely a breath after lying down before his filthy hands ended up where they were not supposed to be.  I could feel his chest pressing up against my back and his callous hands running up my thigh.  Yellowbeard must have assumed that he was safe as long as my hands were tied.  He was wrong.

            I decided to express my feelings on the situation with heel to his groin.  It did stop his hands from traveling any further.  However I hadn’t considered the consequences of my actions.  With a howl of pain, Yellowbeard picked me up and tossed me out of the hut.  Yelling something in a language I obviously could not understand, he never-the-less made clear the conditions of my remaining in his good graces and his warm hut.

            “Well, feck,” I cursed as I sat on my arse in the middle of the village.  “At least ask me my name first, ya filthy Mid.”  I knew no one would understand me, and it wasn’t like I would have let him even if he had been more of a gentleman.  Truth is I never cared for chivalry, but I appreciate some respect.  That’s why I always carried a knife to bed.  Not so fortunate here.

            I got up to find a sharp rock to undo my wrists when I found myself face-to-face with the Norsewoman I had seen earlier.  She looked ready to throttle me.  What the hell was her concern with Yellowbeard?  Her lip trembled and she took a step towards me.  I fell back on my ass trying to escape her, but another Norseman grabbed her arm and pulled her away.

            Whatever.  It was getting dark and I needed to find someplace warm to sleep for the night.

* * *

 

            And so it went on for about a month.  Yellowbeard let me back in the next day, but he didn’t try anything until the night after.  This time I tried crying like a virgin (HA!).  It convinced him the first time, however he turned out to be smarter (or hornier) than I gave him credit.  No, it didn’t work more than once.  This time he gently reminded me of the conditions for my stay.  I was pushed gingerly out the door to sleep under the stars again.  Too bad for him; I was used to it.

            I was usually able to find a warm place to sleep, but no one else would let me into their home.  I guess they knew I was Yellowbeard’s property.  Oddly enough no one else gave me any trouble.  They mostly ignored me.  Very strange since I was a captive in their town.  They must have known, simply based on my clothes and weapons, that I was an assassin for Albion.  I guess they didn’t care.

            Sometimes Yellowbeard allowed me to sleep in his bed, others not.  He seemed determined to have me.  At one point I nearly gave up and offered him a little release without having to sacrifice my “dignity”.  He wasn’t interested.  Feck.  Tossed out on my arse again, and even after my generous offer.  He was the first man in history to turn _that_ down.  It wouldn’t become clear to me why for a long time.

            During the day I passed the time trying to find a way out.  It became apparent that wasn’t going to be possible.  With trolls guarding the entrance and hundreds of miles of forest and God knows what else between here and home, I was stuck here unless they decided to let me go.  Well that’s not going to happen anytime soon.

            It was not a complete waste of time, though.  While observing the town I got to know a little more about Yellowbeard and some of the others.  Yellowbeard never left the forest.  I knew this because he always came home by nightfall if not earlier.  Then I wonder what he was doing in the frontiers?  Oh, right, looking for a “wife.”

            Yellowbeard was a guard for Galplen.  He must have patrolled the forest.  Well, either that or he fished the lake with a spear.  He didn’t seem the fisherman type.  The rest of the town was full of trolls.  Nothing to say about that:   trolls are about as interesting as rocks.  There was little else to know about the other Norse either.

            Well, except for Yellowbeard’s nemesis.  Aye, I saw her a lot.  Not sure why, but every time I was tossed out on my rear for not spreading my legs, there she was.  She was usually as sad or angry as the first few times I met her, but I swear once I saw a little smirk curl those lips.  It was right after I had been evicted.  I assumed she was laughing at me.  Turns out she was amused by Yellowbeard’s plight as well because she used to be Yellowbeard’s woman.  Oh yes.  And I found out in the strangest way.

* * *

            One day, Yellowbeard had packed much more than he usually did for his daily patrol.  It looked like he was going for an extra-long trip.  Well, there was ne’er a truer statement.  Yellowbeard apparently had grown tired of my refusal and went back to the frontiers looking for someone more willing.  I guess he had somehow earned the reputation as having the worst personality in Midgard, and that’s up against some pretty stiff competition.  Hehe, “stiff.”

            But anyway, he never came back.  At least not alive.  It had been a relaxing three days without his unwanted attempts on my virtue, but on the fourth day a troupe of norsemen and trolls entered the town carrying his body. 

            I was a little sad.  He had kept anyone else from hurting me, and I think I was actually going to miss our little game.  Not that he ever thought it was funny.  But at least now I could concentrate on my escape.  However my life was about to get much worse.

            If _I_ was a little sad, then Sonja was devastated.  I didn’t even know what to call her.  I started calling her “Sonja” because I think I heard someone say that to her once.  For all I knew it could have meant “don’t kill the short briton girl; she’s Yellowbeard’s property.”

            Sonja’s attitude towards me went from smoldering rage to complete disinterest following Yellowbeard’s death.  However I was not in a better position, because apparently she had been more than a casual acquaintance; she had been his _wife_.  And now with him dead and me just a sorry Alb, she inherited his home. 

            A pair of trolls (yes, two of them, can you fecking believe it?) escorted me from Yellowbeard’s home and Sonja took up residence.  I was in a real pickle:  no doubt about it.  At first I slept outside.  I had certainly been used to it.  But the real problem was that of food.  Bleh, garbage pickings in Galplen were not very good.  I was getting desperate by the end of the fifth day and tried to take up with one of the other residents, but no one would have me.

            I’m not sure if Sonja or anyone else blamed me for Yellowbeard’s death, but no one tried to hurt me.  Not even Sonja.  I guess they were just going to let me starve.  Oh hell.  _They were just going to let me starve!_   Well, if they no longer cared enough to feed me, then what’s to stop me from just leaving?

            I bolted for the main entrance to town and stopped when I came to the large, wooden doors.  Approaching the doors slowly, I glanced at the guards.  Both trolls stared at me with menacing looks.  I decided to try the doors.  The moment my fingers touched the wood, a huge axe slapped against it inches above my hand.  I guess I yelped and jumped back. 

            Both trolls continued staring at me.

            “Fecking brutes!” I yelled.  Uh oh, they understood _that_.  The one with the axe hefted the weapon over his shoulder and snorted at me before giving chase.  Bloody hell, this was not good.  I ran across the courtyard and scaled the wall of someone’s home before looking back.  The troll stopped at the hut and grinned up at me before returning to his post.

            If you’ve never seen a troll smile at you, consider yourself lucky.  I’ll be having nightmares about it for the rest of my life.  So there I was, poorly clothed, hungry, and exhausted.  How could things get any worse?  The cold rain that started almost immediately answered my question.  Despondent, I climbed off and just started walking.

            I didn’t know where I was going, and I didn’t really care.  That sprint had taken a lot out of me.  The lack of food (and lack of exercise) had caused my muscles to weaken to the point where I could barely move.  The cold rain had chilled me to the bone and when I looked up I found myself in front of Yellowbeard’s hut.  Well, I thought to myself, there was only one course left open to me.

            I poked my head through the flap over the opening.  Sonja would either take pity on me, or put me out of my misery.  Either way my suffering would end.  There she was, just like I had last seen her.

            Sonja sat alone on the opposite end of the stone hut and stared at the fire in the middle.  It wasn’t just the red glow of the hearth that made her eyes look sunken in; she was crying just like she had been for almost a week since Yellowbeard’s funeral pyre.  She really did miss the ugly bastard.  I really had to wonder why he left her.

            I coughed.  Not to get her attention; I really was feeling awful, but it did get her to finally look up from the fire.  Sonja was pretty.  I say that as a human being.  She may be more muscular and taller than me, but she was still feminine.  And despite her sad, blood-shot eyes, her face still twinkled.  I can’t believe I’m admitting this, or even noticing it.  I guess I really am getting desperate… for a hot meal and warm bedroll.

            Sonja looked at me for a moment then turned her gaze back to the fire.  I took that to mean she wasn’t going to kill me and stepped in out of the rain.  Beside the fire was a steaming bowl of stew that looked untouched.  I eyed it for a moment then looked back to Sonja.  She noticed my hopeful gaze, but just started weeping softly again.  Bloody hell, she had it bad for that man.  But I didn’t have time to worry about dead husbands; the growl from my stomach told me that much.  Sonja heard it, too and looked up at me.

            I couldn’t take it any longer.  The events of the last month had drained all my strength, and not just physically.  I dropped to my knees and clasped my hands together pleading with Sonja to take me in.  For a few moments, she just stared at me from the other side of the fire.  I saw rage in her eyes for a scant second, but apparently she was also growing weary of our conflict.  The anger disappeared and even though it was replaced by sadness once again, she never-the-less pushed the bowl of stew towards me and looked away.

            My luck (and later I would learn, my life) was finally changing for the better.  I could not believe how wonderful the food tasted.  Meat, and even some tasty vegetables (I usually push those to the side at home) greeted my tongue.

            “Oh, Lord this is delicious!” I said in between noisy slurps.  Sonja sighed and pretty much ignored me.  I guess she still had things on her mind.  Oh well.  I was happy.  I was almost crying with relief

            My palate sang with joy as I wolfed down the food, and my stomach screamed in horror.  Uh-oh.  Too much!  I ran out the door of Sonja’s home and immediately threw up.  It had been too long since my last decent meal, and Yellowbeard never fed me this well.  So there I was, back out in the rain which was coming down like a waterfall now.  I started to cry.

            I have no idea why, but I guess I just wanted to go home.  I couldn’t think of anyone I wanted to go home to, but there were plenty of men in Albion who were willing to share a little money, bed and warmth with me.  I think that sad thought dragged my mood down even further.  I slumped to the ground on my knees -- banging them hard -- and just cried until I felt a pair of hands on my shoulder.  I looked back to see Sonja.  I wouldn’t care if she cut my throat right where I kneeled.  But I was happy she didn’t.  Instead she pulled me back into her hut.

            Sonja sat me back down by the fire and placed a blanket around my shoulders.  I just sat there while she did something with the stew.  When she handed it back to me, I noticed it was thinner and had fewer chunks in it.

            “Slow down.”  Well, I assume that’s what she said.  I don’t speak Norse, you know.  I kept the food down this time.  Good advice from someone… wait, I never saw any children around her.  I thought about that fact for a moment then forgot about it as I continued eating.  Sonja returned with a cup of water and sat down beside me.  I didn’t pay much attention to what she was doing at the time, but Sonja was inspecting me very closely.  I supposed I was quite different from the norse women of Galplen. 

            I had seen a few red-headed norse, but not here in Sonja’s home town.  Most of them were blonde like she was.  I guess my bright red hair fascinated her even after nearly a month of grime had dulled it.  Our difference didn’t stop there either.  Sonja was nearly a head taller than me, and not all of her chest was muscle either. 

            I always get a chuckle out of the men at the taverns that flock to the serving maids with huge bosoms.  The men I bedded never had any complaints about my tiny teats.  Bloody hell, I even kept my chest trussed up flat most of the time until I let them undress me.

            Sonja’s on the other hand were as big as my head.  I’m sorry, that is also another exaggeration.  Sonja is a buxom woman, not as colossal as I make her out to be.  But I wonder what she was thinking of me at that moment, because all I could think about was sleep.

            That really was it:  sleep.  I had had enough excitement for the day.  After a decent meal all I wanted to do was curl up in a dry bed next to a warm fire and never wake up.  Sonja seemed to be thinking the same thing; although the fact that I was leaning against her and nearly dozing could have been the reason she pulled me down onto her bedroll -- Yellowbeard’s old bedroll. 

            I barely noticed as she pulled the blanket over us and Sonja began the typical low, rhythmic breathing indicating she was also asleep.

* * *

 

            God, I had some good dreams that night.  You can’t blame me; it had been almost two months since I’d had a good length, and the fellow in my dream had exactly what I needed.  It was a shame he seemed a little shy, but I’m the sort of woman who doesn’t mind taking the lead.  He smelled a little funny, but that didn’t discourage me.  It was more of a peculiar scent than anything rank or disgusting.

            I had my hands under his shirt and down his pants before he realized he was allowed to do the same to me.  Finally after a several hot, steaming minutes, he got the idea and got as excited as I was.  Soon he was rogering me with all the enthusiasm of a fresh stable boy, but with about as much skill.  No matter; I can always finish off by myself.  It’s still nice to have a partner though.

            Although it _was_ odd to have a dream about _mediocre_ sex.  Uh-oh.  I woke up in an instant and my eyes flew open.  I was clinging to the owner of the hut.  My tunic, which was fairly long and the only thing I wore to bed, had ridden up past my thighs and I think I had been humping Sonja.

            Sonja didn’t seem to mind, though.  I, on the other hand, was petrified.  I had no idea how much time had passed since I fell asleep next to her, but the fire was just a few embers and it was pitch black outside.  Could I have been rutting up against her for long?  I wasn’t sure, but my immediate concern was what Sonja would do.

            I looked up at her face and relaxed my grip around her waist, and tried to disengage my legs from hers.  Sonja looked down at me -- her face covered with tiny beads of sweat -- and pulled me closer.  I was shocked; she didn’t push me away.  Then I was mortified as she began rubbing up against me.  I just lay there unmoving as she finished off with a muffled scream into my hair.  I thought she was crying.  Well she was, I suppose, but not in pain.

            I continued to lay there as her breathing returned to normal and her grip loosened.  I had never been in this situation with another woman, and I simply assumed (incorrectly it turned out) that Sonja had.  Although she had been wedded to Yellowbeard, so that didn’t really make any sense to me.

            By the time Sonja had settled down, the embers from the fire had nearly gone out completely and I could no longer see her face.  What was going to happen?  I had no idea.  Would she throw me out?  It seemed like the only reasonable thing for her to do.  Sonja shuffled around and reached over me to stoke the fire.  The return of the auburn glow revealed an uncharacteristically soft gaze from the woman.

            Oh…my…god… 

            Sonja studied my face for a while then rolled me onto my back for a better look.  The fire must have certainly revealed my look of sheer terror, but Sonja didn’t seem to be deterred.  She tentatively brushed her fingers against my cheek and smiled.

            She smiled.

            That may not mean much to most folk, but Sonja had never smiled for as long as I had known her (or more accurately, for as long as she had known about me).  God, her face just lit up with that smile.  It wasn’t a devious smile, or the kind of smile I would flash at a prospect at a tavern.  It was almost like the smile a mother would bestow upon her newborn child.  A frightening thought had I dwelled on it at the time, but in retrospect that is how I felt.

            And oh, how infectious that smile was.  I couldn’t help myself.  I just smiled back which only broadened hers further.  The two of us just stared at each other like the stable boy and milk maid after fumbling about in the hay.  Then I noticed where her fingers were going.

            Distracted, I hardly noticed her free hand traveling down my still covered chest.  When she reached the end, she paused before touching my bare skin.  I gasped.  Sorry, I couldn’t help it!  This was all new to me.  I’d slept with many men (many, _many_ men), but now I felt like the crying virgin.  Sonja let her hand rest on my belly.  When she was certain I wasn’t going to scream she lightly brushed her fingertips along my skin as they traveled up between my breasts.

            I was in heaven.  I really didn’t care that it was a woman holding me anymore.  I let out a deep, pent up sigh and Sonja laughed.  Then she got a devious look in her eye.  I didn’t really notice, but I know why.  A second later I felt her thumb and finger graze my right nipple, pinching it slightly.  _That_ made me scream. 

            I tried to stifle myself before anyone came running into the hut to find us, but Sonja didn’t seem to mind.  She giggled like a young girl and removed her hand from my bosom.  Damn, that smile of hers will always be burned into my mind.  Sonja kept smiling and looked at me with one hand cradling my head, and the other touching my cheek.  Her expression changed and suddenly she looked a little more serious.  Well, as serious as a nearly naked woman can be. 

            “Vad heter du?”

            “Huh?”  Yes, I’m pretty dumb.  Sonja spoke her next words slowly.

            “Quid est nomen tuum?”  Holy shit, she knows Latin?  Well, a little, I suppose.  It may be the only phrase she knows.  She kind of stammered it out poorly, but I got the meaning well enough.  But she wanted to know my name.  God, I was so embarrassed.  I was so flustered that I had almost forgotten my own name.

            “Dee.  Just call me Dee.”  It wasn’t a total lie; I had gone by that name for years.  My real name doesn’t matter, and Sonja didn’t care; she just wanted to know me.  Sonja?  Mmmm… I think I should find out her name too.  Calling her Sonja if that wasn’t her name could lead so some awkward moments.  So I pointed to her questioningly.  She smiled…again.  Damn I love that smile.

            “Sonja,” she replied.  Ha!  I got it right.  I’m smarter than my teachers gave me credit for.  I must have been making some pretty funny faces because she chuckled at me again before stopping my heart.  How did she do that, you ask?  She kissed me.

            It happened pretty fast, and I suppose it should not have been unexpected, but I’m glad for the surprise; it made the whole night that much more exciting (not that it needed it).  She just leaned in and pressed her lips against mine.  I was so surprised that I yelped a little.  However that only served to encourage her.  Yes, she was a feisty one.  Damn, Yellowbeard, what was your problem?

            Her lips still pressed against mine, I decided to return the kiss.  It was like kissing a man, but softer, more… I don’t know.  Try it yourself!  It was so good I moaned (although the hand on my thigh could have had something to do with that).  Next thing I know she opens her mouth.  I do the same and nearly faint.  Her tongue slipped between my lips and glided gently along my teeth in search of my own tongue.  God, the feeling was amazing.  Why was this feeling all so new to me?  I am _not_ a virgin, dammit!  Well, it turned out Sonja was new to this, too. 

            She still had me flat on my back, but that didn’t stop me from trying to rub my thighs against hers.  Meanwhile her hand moved from my thigh to between my legs.  I didn’t care anymore.  I was tired of feeling like a virgin.  I spread my legs for Sonja, but my knees still shook.  Damn, I’ll never convince anyone I wasn’t new at this.  It was true.  Sonja laughed a little at my trembling movements, she even laughed through the kiss that I refused to relinquish.  But I had to come up for air sometime, and that moment came when I felt Sonja’s delicate touch on my sex.

            Of the few ( _very_ few) men who had bothered to pay any attention to me down there, none of them had the skill that Sonja had.  I sucked in my breath and held it until she stopped and tried to get me to breathe again.  I had been so scared since our encounter began that I had forgotten about my own pleasure.  Sonja returned her attentions to between my legs and found me dripping wet.  And oh God, how she used my juices. 

            I just clung to her as her fingers danced upon the sensitive nub for a while before dipping lower to the silky path between my nub and entrance to my womb.  It felt wonderful, even if the spot wasn’t as sensitive as my clit.  Sonja was teaching me things about my body that I hadn’t learned myself during some of my more lonely nights in Albion.  I could have laid there for hours while she pleasured me.

            Sonja wasn’t about to leave me without returning the favor I had inadvertently bestowed on her earlier that evening.  Pulling me up the bedroll to eye level with her, Sonja dipped her finger further down between the splayed lips of my sex.  I wasn’t sure what she was doing until I felt a gently probing of my insides.  Not as intense as what she was doing before, but oh it felt nice.  Then she touched something.  I began panting. 

            Oh yes, she found something:  something inside me that every man had missed in their hasty fumblings.  I clenched my eyes shut and concentrated on the feelings between my legs.  Sonja cradled me securely and kissed me on the cheek before pressing my face into her neck.  I’m glad she did because Tir na Nog would have heard me had she not.

            Sonja slowly introduced a second finger into my quim and pressed against this new spot.  I wanted to come so bad, but it was not enough.  It was fabulous, but I needed to touch myself.  Sonja noticed me trying and pushed away my hand.  I had to trust her.  She didn’t disappoint me.

            With two fingers inside me, Sonja placed her thumb on my clit.  Gently at first, but gradually firmer.  It was all I needed. 

            My screams were thankfully muffled.  I swear she was going to have to peel me off the roof of her hut.

            “Sonja,” I panted into her neck.  She just hushed me as her fingers slowed their manipulations.  Sonja removed them from my sex with one last swipe of my sensitive bud that elicited a shiver from me.  I think I dozed after that.  I don’t know for how long, but when I opened my eyes I was hornier than ever.  The fire was going a little stronger and Sonja was still lying beside me.  I just grabbed her and kissed her hard.

            I think I startled her a little.  When she tried to push me away, I broke the kiss, reached for my tunic and pulled it over my head.  Sonja barely had time to see me naked when I tried to pull off her clothes.  She’s not missing much; I don’t really have anything she hasn’t seen already, just on the smaller scale.

            I was having trouble with her clothes until she relented and helped me.  Finally we were both naked and I squirmed up against her searching for another kiss.  Sonja pushed me away again and looked at me.  Alright, I’ll let her have a look, but she had better hurry; I’m getting itchy!

            Her eyes traveled up and down my body.  She probably already knew I was a natural redhead from a few minutes ago, but I took the opportunity to find out that she was as blonde as one could get.  I suppose I shouldn’t have been in such a rush because now I got to inspect that great bosom of hers.

           I placed my hands on them gently – like a woman prefers – and leaned in.  They were soft against my cheeks.  And there was that scent again.  Sonja smelled great.  I looked up at her and grinned.  She grinned back.  At that moment I decided I didn’t want to escape.  There was no one waiting for me back in Albion, and I really, _really_ hated being an assassin.  I had cheated death a hundred times, and when I was finally captured, I had lucked out and met Sonja.

            “Sonja,” I whispered thinking about what to do.  The blonde object of my affections pulled me close and kissed me. 

            That’s it I’m staying.  To hell with my old life.  I don’t know if Sonja knew how important that moment was, but I wanted to show her.  I snuggled up tight against her and locked my legs around her thigh.  She giggled when she realized what I was up to and sighed when she felt me press my thigh against her sex.  It felt good to finish up where we had started earlier. 

            God, it felt good.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted by me on Kelryck's DAoC Role Play Community boards in 2006. This is my first post in over 10 years, and my first post to AO3; it is a one-off test to help me familiarize myself with the system. Only minor changes to the story have been made since its original posting.


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